Chapter 2

It's strange having someone in my personal life. With my 2 year estrangement against my family and very short term love affairs... coming home to another human being drives me quietly mad.

Even when I lived at home it was hard not to grow irritated at my mother.

I'm a cold facade of a human being. I know this; Charlie will come to know this as well. Penelope did. Which would probably answer the question why I found her and Oliver snogging each other the very last day of Hogwarts.

Did I feel betrayed by a girl whom I was slowly resenting being with the roommate I barely even knew?

Not really.

Sometimes I do think I'm made of stone.

"Hiya Percy." I can't help but notice the two syllable conversion.

I nod. Go to my room. The tiny click audible is throughout the galaxies.

zxzzxzxzxzzxzzxz

One would never assume that Head Boy Perfect Poof would be a lover of art. Music, literature, paintings made from the human subconscious.

How could I resist?

My own depraved soul crying to allow all else to see my naivety with an animosity not even the Dark Lord could achieve.

Yes. I do think that those whom we label as evil are artisans of the fabric that is Life.

While at the same time I begin to deny the fact that it exists. What is evil? Is there an answer that everyone can believe?

Is not all evil good? And Vice versa?

Am I not a git, yet a respectable young man?

Was I not perfect in everyway that my brothers became infatuated with each one of my downfalls?

Am I not the boy smoking a cigarette, waiting for the sky to fall?

I love the way the smoke swirls around in the air with such deadly chemicals. The way it dyes my teeth and fingers a truly disgusting mustard colour. The added effect on the aftertaste that resides in the mouth with gross precision.

I suppose I am self defeated. Self mutilated, self pitied... and all the rest.

Suppose I like it?

Am I evil, because I'm not as happy as that big muscular man waiting in the living room for me to come out.

He'll leave soon to go and have supper at the Burrow. Even with just a fortnight behind us, he knows I will not be bothered to come with him.

I pick up that funny Muggle instrument. My hands trembling slightly after all the cigarettes. Tearing apart my soul, I allow myself to fly away for a little while.

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At night it's the worst. The insomnia that hasn't gone away despite my body's exhausted state.

Sometimes I go into that room that room to calm down. My body consumed by the energy. My curl's wailing as my voice falters.

I don't think it's too bad all this. The back of the paintings leaning against the wall. The painted black windows, white walls that are all sorts of colours in the lamp light. The dolls made of clay... disturbing the insect feel of them. Monstrous in the humanity they've mutated. Black, with blue eyes or no eyes at all. None of them have fair hair. Three of them have blue eyes. Four with brown. One doll is holding a pair of green ones. While another is frozen in time with a black onyx one in their mouths.

They are genderless as angels and demons or sexless.

Why do they exist?

So that they may be destroyed.

After all isn't that what life's about?

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A/N: short I know. But I'm working on it.